


We've Wasted All Our Time (Feeling Grey)

by RDcantRead



Series: Keeping His Thoughts To Himself (He'd Be Leaving Soon) [5]
Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Alone on Christmas, Character Study, Christmas, Depression, Gen, Loneliness, References to Depression, Sad Roger Taylor (Queen), Seasonal Affective Disorder, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-03
Updated: 2019-11-03
Packaged: 2021-01-20 21:28:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21288446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RDcantRead/pseuds/RDcantRead
Summary: Roger woke up.The sunlight was streaming through the open windows, the curtains swaying gently in the breeze. And despite the beautiful weather, it was deathly cold.
Series: Keeping His Thoughts To Himself (He'd Be Leaving Soon) [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1489121
Comments: 6
Kudos: 19





	We've Wasted All Our Time (Feeling Grey)

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from "Seasonal Depression" by mxmtoon

Roger woke up. The sunlight was streaming through the open windows, the curtains swaying gently in the breeze. Despite the beautiful weather, it was deathly cold inside the room, and Roger wrapped himself tighter in his duvet to escape the arctic temperature. He made his way slowly to the windows and closed them quickly. The enormous garden outside was blanketed in a layer of snow and the windows were enveloped in frosty patterns. 

It was the coldest winter Roger could remember since ‘76, but maybe that’s bias from how he’s been feeling lately, which is pretty shit. He didn’t even know why he left the windows open last night, the forecast did announce heavy snowfall during the night and day, but for now, the snow was settled and the skies were clear. 

He shuffled back into bed and re-wrapped himself in his bedding, closing his eyes to ward off the dusty feelings from before the holidays, mostly unsuccessfully. The numb feeling didn’t so much creep back in, as not leave, and Roger resigned himself to another day of lacking emotions, numb tiredness and dull pain. 

It was Christmas morning, and Roger was alone. Dom had Felix for the holiday season, and Roger had already sent his gifts along to both his son and ex-girlfriend. He probably wasn’t going to see his bandmates this Christmas, but he had gotten them gifts that he’ll give them the next time he sees them. He doesn’t know when that will happen, but he’s hoping that it’s soon. Though he’ll probably be drowning in loneliness by that point (as if he isn’t already), so he doesn’t know if his bandmates will make him feel better or worse. (He’s betting on worse.)

He's just so  _ tired _ . The days barely reach the level of sunlight that indicates that the day has started, and Roger's just in that perpetual state of tiredness that he can't really be bothered to do anything at all. He just wants to sleep in everyday (he doesn't want to wake up.) 

The chill in the air bites at his lip. Roger breathes out shakily, his breath coming out in a haze. He wants to laugh at how that is reminiscent of how he's feeling, but he can't work up the motivation. The blur he's living in just doesn't seem to connect to what he's thinking, it all seems so slow. 

The bed is comfortable, and the bedding is soft. The pillow is easy to fall into and never leave. He wishes he didn't have to leave until the days are long and the nights are short. (Even then, he doubts he'll be able to get out of bed.) 

He doesn't know what time it is, he doesn't really care, it's still Christmas morning (or afternoon) and he's still alone. Though he knows that he'll have to get up sometime, Dom is meant to call him from France this afternoon with little Felix. He supposes that that's something to look forward to, even though he really doesn't have the motivation to deal with his son's energy (God, he's an awful parent.) 

He wonders if the fog surrounding his emotions will let up; if he's cursed to spend winter in a tasteless daze. At least he's not drowning himself in booze and women like he did when he was younger (no, instead he ruminates on nonexistent issues in his life.) 

The phone rings somewhere. He knows that he should get up but the fog drags his limbs down and coils around his wrists, shackling him to the bed. He closes his eyes and tries to fall asleep, but he can't seem to find the peace that he so desires.

He knows he's overstayed his welcome. He knows that he should get out of bed, that he should get something to eat, that he should be spending his Christmas surrounded by family, but he can't seem to work up the motivation required for such a strenuous action.

He wants to get up, and he hates that he's still in his bed. He can see beyond the still curtains and frost painted windows into the snowy wonderland of the outside world. The clouds are stormy grey, gathering for another heavy snowfall. He knows that if he were a kid he would be outside playing in the snow with Clare, building a snowman, having snowball fights and having fun. But he's not a kid and the winter season no longer fills him with familial joy and Christmas spirit.

The sunlight is no longer streaming in through the window, painting his bedroom in shades of black and grey, perfectly reflecting how he's feeling. He's wasting his time on how he's feeling when it's not important. He should be focussing on his son, his friends, his music. He should be paying attention to how others are feeling, how others are dealing with their situations. 

He's been so lucky. He's released ten albums with Queen, and one solo album. He's got three amazing friends in Freddie, Brian and John, a wonderful friend in Dom, an adorable baby son, an enormous house and lots of money. He shouldn't be feeling this way. He should be happy, he should be out there having fun. Not in bed feeling sorry for himself.

He thinks that this might be why he and Dom broke up. Roger wished he could say that they're both happier now that they've broken up, he can't, because while he knows that Dom isn't having a hard time now, he's been left all alone, and he's been feeling so lonely. He wishes that there was someone here with him, though he wouldn't wish his melancholy presence on anyone.

He shifts in bed slightly, the bed linens brushing against his skin as he tries to find a better position to fall asleep. The phone rings once more and Roger ignores it, closing his eyes to try and find the sleep he's looking for. He wants to rest. He doesn't want to feel the drab grey-ness that he feels everyday, that he suffers through trying to find meaning.

God, he's starting to sound like Brian. His breath escapes him in a sleepy sigh, puffing up in front of him from the cold, and Roger would turn the heating on, but he really can't be bothered getting up. He thinks that his heating bill will be low this month from how much he's been sleeping off the days. It's a miracle that he even knows that it's Christmas morning. 

Sleep creeps up on him and before he knows it he's in the dreamless blackness that he'd been wishing for. He finds it kind of funny that he's alone on Christmas Day, he knows that the band is split halfway across the world from each other. 

He wonders if that even makes them friends anymore. 


End file.
